Author Archives: txherper@gmail.com

Bocas, You Wear Me Out

May 24, 2013 – 11:14 pm
The diesel generator at the farm leaks oil and water.  I picked up the diesel mechanic that inspected the generator for me before I bought it who declared it to be in fine shape.

We arrived at the dock. Well I guess I wont punctuate as this keyboard is set to some language different than English and different from what is printed on keys.

How far is it to the generator? About 300 yards.  Sure lard ass, I will carry your tool box.  I walked back down to pick up 16 gallons of diesel fuel.   Then a bag of parts.  He was sitting there waiting for me.  I installed two fan belts, his job
was to guide the belts over the pulleys, mine was to turn the engine over by hand, turning the flywheel.   I installed a capacitor and fired it up.  128 volts, good.   Into the kitchen, I checked the voltage at the outlet.   121.  I fired up the new high efficiency chest refrigerator I had purchased. Within minutes it was cold.   Got to get one of these for my house, that propane thing wears me out.

The battery is dead.  There is a crank.  He instructed me to crank it.   What the fuck.   Ok I decompressed, pulled out the crank and he released the decompression switch.   Hey, let me get some RPMs before you do that.  I got it going.   I went off to take care of something.  I came back and he was sitting there looking at it leak.  I turned it off, pulled a plate, found a hole where presumably an oil pressure gauge would go, whittled a plug out of a piece of 2 x 4, made a gasket with a utility knife out of a discarded leather belt and put it back together.   Now it was leaking from under the valve cover.  I instructed him to pull the head so I could look at the head gasket.   I went off to take care of something else.  I came back and he was looking at the engine.  He could not apply enough force to remove the valve cover. Jesus, give me a half inch socket wrench with an 18 mm socket.  I took the head off, and peeled off the gasket.  Shot.  Not much to do here.  I put the gasket in the tool box.

Down to look at a golf cart.   Fuel pump shot.  I tried to salvage one from the other cart.  Shot.  I secured a gas tank and gravity fed it.   The starter motor belt slipped.  I loosened the nut, pulled hard on the starter and instructed him to tighten the nut.  Wrong way. WTF?

I fired it up and ran it up the trail.  The accelator stuck.   I mashed hard on the brakes and turned off the ignition, turned it around and drove it back down.  No lubricant.  I sprayed the fittings with carburetor cleaner, better than nothing.

Ok. Now the peddle doesnt stick.   Got my venturi? Put it on while I take a shower.  Ten minutes later I came out all clean and fit for town.  He did a fine job, except the venturi was on backwards and he hooked the low pressure gas line to a water outlet on the regulator.   I took it apart and assembled it properly.   The engine started right up.  Ran for three minutes and quit.   Hah! It was just running on gas in the float bowl of the carburetor. He told me my regulator was defective.  I loosened a lock nut and backed out a screw, pressed the primer button fired it up and tightened down the screw until it ran at a nice even steady rate.  I scrounged up a hose clamp and put it on the high pressure line.

There, undid your shit, did it right and showed you how to do it.  I was missing three black vanadium sockets from the last time he worked for me. I found one in his tool box, a large metal box jumbled with unsorted sockets, screwdrivers and wrenches.

Still missing an 8mm quarter inch socket and a 10mm three eighths socket.  I have had this kit for 15 years and never lost a piece. I let him use it for an hour and three pieces are missing.

How much do I owe you.   You told me the generator was in fine shape, it is not, I converted my generator to propane and showed you how.  I carried  your tools. I took the diesel generator apart while you handed me tools.

Dollars fifty should do it. What a fucking deal.

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Resort Work

April 13, 2013 – 4:59 am
I’ve been searching for a diesel generator for the resort.  A mechanic in town told me of one that was a first rate unit, in fine shape, with low hours at a good price.   Others have been buying propane generators.  There is a good reason for doing so.  As propane in twentyfive pound tanks is highly subsidized the fuel cost is far lower than for diesel generators. Diesel generators cost much less to run than gas generators. Low end gas and propane generators are really not intended for continuous duty, they are standby units that need to be replaced every few years even if only used to top off batteries on cloudy days or to equalize batteries.  This generator will probably use between a quart to half a gallon of diesel and hour.  At a cost of $4.50 a gallon that’s $9 to $18 a day if run for eight hours.  On propane the cost would be less than $4 a day.  The downside is, the unit is likely to fail at the most inopportune time.  Maybe I’ll put in a propane generator if the resort generates revenue.  Most likely my first priority would be to put in solar.

I’ll need about two thousand watts to run the pool pump.  The current price of solar panels is about one dollar a watt.  I’ll need about two thousand watts to run the refrigerators and freezers.  I should probably use a chest freezer as a refrigerator.  Cold air stays in chest freezers, it pours out the door on refrigerators.

The guy with the generator called.  I went off to his house to inspect then spent a couple of hours with the man.  A very interesting person, but I can’t go into the details as I don’t have the cash to pay for it yet as I can only withdraw $500 a day and some local who reads this might have cash in hand first.     Very high end diesel generator, well maintained, with low hours.

I got a call that a buddy was handed my new telephoto lens and a propane conversion kit for my home generator.  I went back to town and picked it up.   A very annoying person was in attendance, one whom I avoid.   This is a guy who owns no business, nor boat nor is ever in the company of women but is never short of ill words to say about everybody else’s business, boat or women.  I got out of there as quickly as possible.

On Friday I met with a neighbor of the resort.  Per my instructions he tapped into the water supply for the school at the point the pipes cross the resort.  This water is being utilized in compliance with a former agreement for usage of the water in exchange for a right of way for the pipes.  No water is available in the daytime due to low pressure as a result of usage by the school and the community.  With the blessing of the community, the water to the community is shut off late at night and the full flow is diverted to the pool.  About 1,500 gallons a day are obtained this way, so the pool should be filled by mid next week.

In my hasty departure I had left an Android tablet in a boat bag.  I quickly returned to fetch it but the wait staff said it wasn’t there.   I later was told that “Hurrricane”, a whirling cocaine maelstrom had taken it for safekeeping.  I called him and he returned with it in his dinghy.  The boat bag was floating in a pool of water. This wasn’t meant for long term submersion.  I opened the bag to find the unit dry.  I opened the case, the screen was cracked.  He had stepped on it. “I didn’t know what was in the bag.”  So you fucking stepped on it? Thanks for looking out for me.  You should have just left  it there.

Off to the beach for a barbecue.  “Who’s this cutie?” “That’s Port Dick‘s girlfriend from the states.”  Here we go.  She said, “Why do you call him that?”  Another guy replied, “because he screwed every drunken slut in town while you were waiting for him in the states.  He was kicked out of Casa Verde for taking these sluts to the employee dorm room and banging them there while other employees were trying to sleep.”   “I’ve heard some bad things about him, but he’s really sweet.”

Starry night, clear skies.

That’s Ursa Minor, the little dipper, that’s Polaris, the North Star. That’s Crux, the Southern Cross.”

“Which way are we going?”

Cute, but not too bright.


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Boat – Finca

April 10, 2013 – 1:26 pm
Ever on the quest for a more fuel efficient boat I took a friend’s twenty foot panga for a test run.  I disconnected the fuel line from the built in tank and hooked it up to an external tank so I could accurately measure fuel consumption.  We met at the appointed hour, but it was raining and we sat and chatted while waiting for the weather to clear.  We took off to the finca and met with a neighbor, a resident of an extended family.  We boated over to the entrance to the finca and down through the shallow canal.  Up to the house we were greeted by agitated Africanized Honey Bees, “killer bees”.  Here, Ricardo, spray them out.  I gave him $5 for some Arrivo, a popular insecticide.

In order to get this resort operative I need to get the pool in order. The first order of business is to fill it.  As we had drained the few remaining tanks that had not been stolen and the catchment systems were profoundly deficient a new plan of attack was in order to get this place open in a timely manner.  Along the hill adjacent to the property a long run of four in PVC snakes its way toward the school, it is buried and crosses the finca.  Ricardo agreed to fix a section that had been broken by horses and to attach a fitting for a hose which is to be run to the pool.  Although the water pressure is insufficient during the daytime to be useful, when the villagers are asleep significant water, about a thousand gallons a day, can be obtained.  Ok, sounds good. And fix the catchment gutters on that cabin up the hill.  I’ll be back Saturday to inspect.

Back to town.  I met with a mechanic that knew of a Lister generator that might be for sale in Almirante.  Nope, the guy doesn’t want to sell it.  What now?  He made another phone call.  A guy he knew had a Kuboto.  That’s top quality stuff, yeah, I’d like to check it out.   I was given the phone number, left a text message and received a reply a couple of hours later.  I could check it out on Friday.

The boat?  Too small, sorry, Susan.

I meandered to a market and found some trousers that fit at a used clothing store.  That’s easier than making a four hour trip to David.  Two pairs for $6.  I dropped them off downstairs at a tailor.  Turn them into cargo shorts by cutting off the bottom of the legs and adding some pockets.  Another $6.  That was easy.

I’d have gone home, but I didn’t have enough gas to make a round trip.  The gas dock was closed as it had no electricity.  The electricity is oft out recently, nobody knows why. Ok, I had enough gas for the short hop back to town and ran into Samantha.  We hung out for a bit at one venue and then a second, which was brazenly serving lobster linguini despite the fact that they are out of season.  Yes, it was fresh lobster.  Off to the Southern anchorage to crash on somebody’s boat.
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Floating Doctors – Playa Verde

April 8, 2013 – 2:12 pm

Friday

A visit ends and an adventure begins.  Zhena and Stani were dropped off at Bocas Marine Tours where they would continue their journey, travelling to Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica.  A couple of warm embraces, a kiss and they were gone.
 I killed an hour, then boated over to the RipTide, a large wooden shrimping boat from Key West that has been repurposed as a floating restaurant and bar to meet with the volunteers of the Floating Doctors.  This weekend’s clinic was held in Playa Verde, a small community on the mainland on a peninsula in Chiriqui Grande. I had been invited to tag along as an observer and to assist in the transport of the volunteers working this clinic.
Shortly after ten, a water taxi and Dr. Ben LaBrot arrived by water and the volunteers by taxi.  The boats were loaded with medical equipment, drugs and backpacks with the volunteer’s ???
Ben gassed up and we headed south south east toward Crawl Cay on our way to Playa Verde, a small Gnobe village on a peninsula on the mainland.  After a brief stop we ??? on the weather, deciding whether to take the direct route on the windward side of Isla Popa or burn some gas taking the slightly longer trip on the windward side.   We decided to take the direct route.  We headed out at a bearing of 300.  I trailed behind the water taxi and Ben’s boat.  About four miles off shore my engine sputtered to a halt.  The gas here is atrocious.   I walked astern and twisted the drain on my water separator and the engine wound up, unfortunately in gear.  Skye quickly pulled it back to neutral and the engine died.  I drained the separator again and while attempting to reprime the engine Ben came back to check on us just as we got the engine going again.
At full throttle we attempted to catch up with the water taxi that had not slowed down during our troubles, leaving Ben in our wake.   A few miles later I turned around to check on Ben to find that he was nowhere in sight.  We pulled out my binoculars and scanned the horizon but he was nowhere to be seen.  We drifted.  Now what?  No boats within radio range, cell phones out of range and the water taxi distant.
We managed to wave down the water taxi and get them to stop and return with us on a search.  Nearing Popa Paradise we were within a cell telephone coverage area and managed to raise Ben on the phone.  He too had experienced gas problems and was idling back to town for service.  He instructed us to carry on.
The seas were calm and a blue slate color that blended seamlessly with the drizzly skies.  We rounded a point and beached the boats on a blackish sandy beach.   Scores of villagers came to greet us.  As we were staying overnight they insisted on pulling my boat up onto the beach.  A log was procured and the heavy boat rolled up, with the stern above the high tide line.
The volunteers, prepared for providing their own sleeping accommodations quickly hung their camping hammocks from beams of a large ???.   My situation was a bit more problematic.  The only hammock I had was a large cotton hammock.  I removed some mooring lines from my boat and provided boundless amusement for a woman as I tied up and tested my hammock repeatedly.
The village was clean, with just a smattering of windblown litter.  Houses on stilts were scattered from the water front to the top of a hill and beyond.  Workers were finishing off a new school building, this one built with concrete framing, filling in the walls with adobe bricks that had been made by the matrons of the town.  The national government had provided training on how to make bricks.
I ascended to the top of the hill and gloried in a verdant view punctuated by large coconut palms that graced the shore, the water extending to the horizon.  More houses ???
Back down to the beach I ran into Tommy, who is rehabilitating the Southern Wind ???.  We walked along the shore to a bridge that spanned a narrow river.  A local offered to show us around.  We ascended a hill using steps that had been cut out of the red clay with machetes. Excited boys ages five to nine accompanied us.  The youths took great pleasure in reviewing snapshots we took.
We killed time until dinner.  Dinner was prepared in large aluminum pots over a stove constructed of a large wooden frame filled with sand.  Pots were placed on cement blocks and heated over a wood fire.  We had rice and beans complemented by lobster and conch.  Lobster is out of season.
We hung out the beach, gazed at the stars and swam in the phosphoresent water and retired
early.

Saturday

Breakfast of fried flour ??? and coffee.  The coffee was prepared “cowboy style” with the ground coffee added to a pot of boiling water.  The water was heated in a large pot cooked over wood on an elevated sand filled frame.
 
The consulting area preparation was effected in earnest.  Desks were moved from the small wooden shack that served as a kindergarten room for 32 youths to the Palapa.  A couple of tables served to house the forty pounds of drugs that would be dispensed.  


Three large desks, simple structures of flat boards best described as small picnic benches with affixed seating, but only one sitting bench were placed with served the providers.  desks tables consulting under metal roofed concrete slab that formerly served as soccer field. Kid playing baseball throwing a ball up in the air and throwing with a stick.

Presently Dr. Ben arrived and draw a crowd.  His boat was pulled ashore and the clinic quickly began.  In contrast to the scores of people waiting for medical attention on Wednesday people there were but a few waiting at a time.  There was never a long line, but there was never an empty provider desk.  Ben consulted by himself.  Jen enlisted the aid of ??? ???’s of the Red Cross.

Skye was the receiving person, pulling prior records and completing a form based on a patient interview.  The patient was then seen by Ben, Jen or ??? a gastoenterologist.

Common ailments included stomach distress, most often likely caused by improper sanitation or bad water.  
I met a particularly interesting individual when he was asked to show us his calf which was severely damaged by a snake bite in Costa Rica.  Many Ngobe are seasonal workers at coffee plantations, picking coffee beans.  This gentleman was declared a deaf mute (not by a member of the Floating Doctors)  I said, “He’s not deaf, he is hearing and understanding everything you say.”  He looked at me, gave me a big grin and a thumbs up.  He understood my English.  Later he talked to me in Spanish.  After we went for a swim he walked down a hill and greeted us wearing a security guard outfit and a realistic plastic pistol in holster which he brandished at the Peace Corp worker.   Several of the health providers thought it was a real gun and that he was actually a security officer.

A kindergarten is in the process of being constructed.  This is unlike any school building I have seen in Panama.  Windows in Panamanian schools are cinder blocks with decorative openings that are small enough to afford security but allow air and light to pass.  The building as built of cement block and stuccoed over with concrete.
 
This building had well oversized concrete beams and cross beams and the walls were made of adobe bricks made by the same women who were cooking our meals.  The windows were aluminum framed glass sliding windows.  There were sufficient bricks piled in front of the building to finish off the wall.
 
I had often wondered why no one had taught the Ngobe to make adobe bricks.approached Jorge and asked him to work with me to ask the women if they would be interested in continuing to make bricks and sell them. They were enthusiastic.  Evan was concerned that the distribution of the money might cause dissent, but I suggested that they just tally up the amount produced per person and pay by the piece.  Later they were overheard to be discussing it and one of the ladies said that if they were going to sell them to the gringos, they would have to be of the highest quality.  Really all they had to do to improve the quality is increase the amount of dried grass to about 10% of the mixture.  One brick, not yet dried, that I picked up had but three strands of grass in it.

Information 

Welfare

Some of the women get 100 dollars every two months. 15 women get the benefits. They go get the money from no bukori.

 

Education

Three buildings accommodate 97 students first to sixth grade. Three teachers one from Changuinola, one from Santiago Veraguas and one from Almirante live on site and visit their families on every three weeks.


Two other teachers. One from San Martin Veraguas. Every 15 days she goes for one day. Other teacher is from Changuinola with married a member of the group. Her husband teaches kindergarten. 

At the school women cook for the kids 18 women rotate. They get food on weekdays when school is in session. School is out December 13 to last week of February. The school consumes 184 pounds of beans and 345 pounds of rice each month.

Crops

 Plant dachi yucca yanpi
 

The women plant and retrieve


Health

 

One person gets elected from the village to attend a seminar in David for a week to learn how to reach the kids and observe problems of health. If they detect that the kids are sick they are taken to the nearby settlement of Punte Sirin in a dugout canoe. Frequently the facility in Punte Serin is out of what is guessed to be the appropriate medicine.


Bush Doctor

Many of the villagers prefer the bush doctor that lives in the village.  He is generally unable to determine the problem and provides a common herbal treatment for a wide variety of ailments that are often ineffective.


Mortality

The number of children under age six varies between ten and twenty.  It is not uncommon for three or four deaths a year in this age group.   Three or four children. 10 or twenty children under school age. Try to tell them to bring to the hospital. Costs a lot of money to get to town. Give the kids coffee.

 

At the school women cook for the kids 18 women rotate. They get food on weekdays when school is in session. School is out December 13 to last week of February.

16 50 watt panels
Two years under construction.material was paid for but not delivered


Peace Corp

Evan halls from Rhode island and has worked with the Peace corp for ??? Months spending his time at Playa Verde. He lives in a two room hut that he rents for 20 a month. Built his own water catchment tank our of concrete. His best friend hereis Jorge.

 

He shits in a bucket with sawdust and composts it inn a bamboo frame.

 

Cowboy coffee. Fried flour.


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Rain, Boating, Floating Doctors

April 3, 2013 – 2:40 am
I went to town to pick up my next guests, a couple of women from Bulgaria and to check on a diesel generator aboard a large boat which is to be stripped and sunk.  I managed to make it to town through a small window of opportunity between rains.  As I was chatting with my friend Walter I got a text message from the women telling me they were at my house, or so they thought.  Ayaah.

Back to my house.  Just out of town I put another five gallons of gas into the tank.  They, Zhenya (Jenni) and Stani were there, cooking up moussaka.  They finally finished cooking and we ate, me included, despite having just finished a hamburger in town.

Finally another break in the rain and my buddy Chris called, “Are you coming?”  “Working on it.”  “C’mon girls, put some swimsuits on, we have things to do.  I have no idea how it took them half an hour to change and get ready to go out the door.

Off to the South Anchorage, we picked up Chris, over to another sailboat, picked up Marcus and off to Saigon.  We pulled along the wreck.  The plywood substrate to the deck was warped up and fully exposed. I hopped the rail and stepped through the floor.  Thereafter I only stepped on large things on the deck that distributed my weight across a greater area.   We made our way to the bow and dropped ourselves through a hatch.   This boat was a complete disaster.  The only thing left of any merit were some walls of finished 3/4″ marine plywood in great condition.  Two Detroit Diesels would probably be sunk with the boat.  In the port sternmost was a wooden box that housed the Onan generator.  Gotta get some diesel fuel and a battery and see if it runs.

Dropped off Chris and Marcus and headed to the Cosmic Crab on Carenero to drop off an air hose and a regulator that I had borrowed and we had employed while working on Nothing Wong.  While there I received a phone call from an assistant of Dr. Ben LaBrot of  the Floating Doctors.  He wanted to meet with me.  So, I left the women there and boated over to Carenero.   I was invited to participate in a clinic on Cristobal and a three day clinic this weekend in Kusapin.   Awesome.

I was informed of the fact that the local hospital had managed to get these wonderful people from treating residents of Isla Colon, the most populous island in the archipeligo and the island on which Bocas Town is located.   I am not sure what their motivation is.  The lines are so long at the hospital that people wait all day, aren’t seen, are turned away after ten hours and told to return.

Then we hit Old Bank where they got a flavor of something completely different than Bocas Town and headed home.

Frequently cited locations.

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Fill her up.

March 26, 2013 – 2:30 am
Off to borrow a generator, and buy a pump.   Fuel problem on my boat.  I guess first stop is to get a new water separator.  So, four of us crowded into a tiny dinghy powered by a 1.5 HP motor and took a very long 300 boat ride.  

So I went to the Yahama store and walked behind the counter to get it myself as the clerk was busy and the phone.  Were I to ask he would probably say he doesn’t have it.   I went over to the register and he indicated he was talking and therefor could ring up a sale.

Down to the hardware store. This pump will do.
“Let’s take a bet on how many fittings they come up with convert 1 FIP to male hose fitting.   I guess 6.  Half an hour of fumbling and the hardware clerk came up with a fitting with only five parts, 3 were threaded 2 were glued, we to cut nipples to get the whole thing done.   At any Home Depot you could by one part for $.60 to do that.    Needed PVC glue, teflon tape, electrical tape some hose fittings.  A hundred bucks later I was

We need some terminals to make an extension cord, I have 1200 feet of 8 guage at my house.  There was no service as usual so it a pair of us, one took through the glass counter and one to remove the cardboard boxes from the densely packed shelves as the contents couldn’t be seen from behind the counter.  I need an oil filter for my outboard the guy disappeared for twenty minutes.  A woman who had been writing up my ticket was now engaged with another and I would have.

I went back to the first store and the guy spent 15 minutes ringing up a gallon of oil and a filter.  When that was finally completed I went the hardware and only waited five minutes for them to ring me.  Water,  four gallons should it. I had to ask the clerk to come out from out back to take my money. We had a bunch of food from yesterday.   All right, back to my house, just burning gas and off to Dolphin Bay.

A cooler, 4 gallons of water, a generator, two tool boxes, 100 pounds of wire, a 12 volt converter, gas, the pump were all walked up the hill in the bright sun.  We put a hose on a tank and improvised a series of hoses that involved cutting demolished hose fittings looking for a way to jury a long enough hose.  Two hoses had a piece of brass pipe that was salvaged and hose clamps were improvised.  Now to connect the hose to the water.  Of course there is no water tape.  More fitting, more reducers more scraps of finally it was attached. We started the pump.  Nothing, just a gurgle.  We took off the discharge hosed and notice air in the water.   Shitty hoses.  We now needed to improvise an extension cord.  The terminal we bought was defective so we just the male plug off a pot warmer that was certain to never be used and could be repaired easily and spliced the wires to that.  More diddling with connections to attach the pump to water tank and half an hour later we were delivering water at the rate of 36 liters per minute to drain a 1000 tank.  We were hot, had been working the tropic sun and douched ourselves prior to filling the pool.  Wet, with a breeze in the shade, it was downright cool.

 Ok, this’ll take a couple of hours let’s go work on one from the main.  It’s higher elevation, we can siphon.   Well, yeah, that worked but 300′ of 3/8″ (The only reason to have hose that small is so that’s light carry if you just want very small volumes)  This is going take days.  A couple of hours later, something that could have become apparent with a little we realized we couldn’t fill this pool with every tank on the property.

Off to look at the golf cart we were having very difficult time pushing down the hill until we realized the woman at the wheel was riding break  Now for the uphill portion and inspection.  This was more jungle than vehicle, ant infested, with plants growing through the engine.  Some broke the gas tank presumably to steal gas, with all of tubing it would have been easier to siphon.  Spare parts on the boat a tank was improvised. The battery had been stolen.  Let’s get that 50 amp jumper.  A bit of screwing with the controls and it sound like low voltage solenoid related, all right we’ll try when we have a battery.  What’s this vice grips.  Oh, this must be transmission.  Yup the control is broken.  Nothing like reaching to a hole of parts including drive belts and pulleys to add to the thrill of driving a golf cart.

Off the generators, next two two formerly magnicent diesel generators disassembled, missing parts and rusting a chinese piece of stamped steel.  Turn the key, nothing, of course the battery is dead.  It position in such a manner that it was nearly impossible to pull the cord.  

In celebration of a great day we had a huge meal in the furnitureless bodega having availed ourselves of the grill locked in the behind a rotting.   Was it hot?  We each drank a gallon water and never pissed.

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Rehab

March 25, 2013 – 1:17 am
I am trying to fix up an abandoned resort in Bocas. I watch the property and get to use the lovely place.  A brief inspection indicated that neglect and theft had exact a large toll. I was expecting to do some minor woordworking, painting and groundskeeping.  I discovered that the place has been ransacked.  A washing machine, a dryer and a refrigerator and yes, a sink had been stolen from the laundry room.The kitchen door suffered from termites and having a panel kicked.   Batteries at $500 apiece were all dead Over a dozen them.   Thousands of feet of building wire that tied the place together had been stolen.  A water pump was missing. Three generators that don’t work.  Two golf carts that had given up the ghost to the jungle.  Inverters stolen.  Three 1000 gallon water tanks were carried off with nobody seeing a thing.

Hmm, after this discovery I decided to resume my initial task for the day which was to empty the vinyl pool and reattach the liner.   I recruited a couple friends some spur of the moment recruits from the Indian Neighbors.   The tools for the task where shlepped a long ill maintained overgrown gravel path with weeds over three feet tall.   Could be some very dangerous snakes hiding in that overgrowth.   A big generator was wired to a battery charger that was wired to a 12 volt bilge pump that was rated at 1000 gallons an hour.  Due to the lift from depth of the pool it was probably making 50.   Plan B, 20 gallon buckets were found and the workers got in the filthy water and filled them with probably half that and threw the 80 pound buckets out of the 10 foot pool hundreds of times, never slowing.    I sat in the shade and drank water.   I was getting tired just watching.

The liner was put in place and a shop vac hose secured under the liner and duct taped into position thats how you pull a vinyl liner tight.   An hour later the kid was still lying by the side of the pool in the hot sun. “What’s he doing there?”  Holding the liner hose.  Oh, got.  We jammed a broomstick next to the hose, tilted it back and taped in position.   The kid went back to macheting the lawn.


The older man, Gin had built the resort.   We chatted late into the night while eating copious amounts of meat, served ala Chris.   Chris grills huge fillets and cuts them into giant junks and then unceremoniously presents a bloody paper plate piled with meat and invites his guests to help themselves.  No cutlery or dishes are offered, he just picks up giant piece after giant and eats them with his fingers expecting guests to do the same.   Side dishes could potatoes, boiled or mashed with sauteed veggies.   Still no cutlery.

We talked late into the night with Gin who I had discovered by eating at restaurant at the mouth of the river to the resort.  His wife runs the place and serves large quantities of excellent for $6 to $7 a plate.  He provided the generator and embarassedly ask for $20 for his days labor.  The kid got the standard rate of $12.

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Sent the Guests Home – Bonfire on the Beach

March 10, 2013 – 1:17 am
A little more cleaning up around the house.  Moved the bed back into the guest bedroom.
Simon came over, we felled a large tree that had swayed ominously during our last storm.  That took about twenty minutes. He then proceeded to clear the hills in front of the house using a 30″ machete.  It wasn’t long before he came up to the house to ask if I had something shorter.   I had a 22″ machete I bought in Guatemala.  Not having been used for several years it was covered in rust.  In his eyes it was near irredeemable. I took a large circular sander and removed all the rust in a minute and tapered on a fine edge.  Too fine for working with wood, but great for grass.   Simon was quite impressed and asked me to tune up his machete.  This took but another couple of minutes.

He then proceeded to work for forty minutes.  In the picture to the right you can see the brown spot created by the area cleared by three gringos with machetes in the course of an hour.  The remaining area, and much more, extending past the captured image was cleared by Simon in forty minutes.

I went to town to pick up a couple of girls.  They were tired from their travels, despite only having come from Boquette, hardly an arduous trip.   I dispatched a water taxi for them and headed out to Starfish Beach with Chris and Alejandra.  We dropped by numerous boats on the way but people that had committed all backed out.   Cool Boat Chris sailed over with his girlfriend Natti on his proa.  There was next to no wind and we waited hours for him.  A bonfire on the beach, grilled chicken and potatoes.  We headed back and offered to tow Chris.  They declined as there was a bit of wind and it was a clear, calm starry night.  By the time we got back to town it had started to rain.  I am sure it was a long, cold trip.

 

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Success

March 9, 2013 – 2:21 am
Out at 8 to Nothing Wong.  I pulled along the port side and the four of us boarded.   Marlin is on his way?  Sure enough, he was but a few minutes off.  High tide at 9:30.

Chris is going to be here at 8:30. He is pressed for time.  How could this be?  He has nothing to do, ever.

One inch manilla lines were tied off to the bow of Nothing Wong.  Here he comes.  Chris called me on the phone.  He couldn’t see to navigate the shallows as he was heading east into the morning sun.  I grabbed some polaroid sunglasses, took my bearings and set off in my boat to lay a course through the shallows, surveyed the water and headed out.  I called him on the phone. It was terse. “77. Copy?”  “Roger”.

I turned on the VHF radio and set it to channel 77.  “Come straight to me.”  The big boat bore down on me cautiously, travelling but a few knots.  Just one tack necessary.  I stopped at the turning point. “Straight to here. I’m heading out to the anchor point.”  I did so.  The beast came to rest. As he was anchoring I was dispatched to get “Cool Boat Chris” (CBC) from Alejandra’s panga, tied off and secured with a stern anchor.  I picked up CBC and shuttled him over to Marita so he could do some line handling, then back to Nuthing Wong to get the tow lines.  One of the boys threw them to one that was on my boat and he started to feed out line.  “Just throw the whole damn thing overboard, else you’ll get the ropes tangled in your feet.”  Jesus, what do they teach these guys in the Coast Guard Academy? Apparently not much to do with boating.  “Get in back and make sure they don’t get near my prop.”  Back to Marita.  The lines were tied off.

Marlin boarded my boat to supervise.  The lines slowly tightened, Marita pitched, the water churned. “Put your rudder amidships” I squawked, repeating Marlins order.   Marita straightened out and another pull was attempted. Marlin observed, “He’s never tugged before, he should let the slack out and surge.”

“Chris, lay back.  Go.”  Something Wong moved a couple of inches.  “Off….. go.”  A foot. “Off, go.”  A few minutes later, she was free.  We hooted and hollered and danced little jigs. Clive broke out into a shit eating grin.   CBC was escorted back to Alejandra’s Panga.   The mast and rudder were left to be collected later.  She was pulled at three knots toward her next mooring in Saigon.  I left with my crew to town for a celebratory coffee or two.  My phone rang. “Jim, get us a bottle of rum, we want to celebrate.”  “There is one on Nothing Wong.”  “I don’t want to wait until we get to Saigon.”  What time is it? 10:30?  OK, I bought a handle of Abuelo, we boarded my boat and pulled alongside.  Marita came to a rest, we tied off and resumed the journey.  The sound system was cranking, blasting a particularly bad selection of music. The boys consumed rum in moderation.  Others?  Not so much.  By the time we got to Saigon, the captain was wasted.

The boat was pulled into position, Marlin put the anchor and a hundred feet of chain on his cayuco and pulled out to drop anchor.  Crazy Chris, yet another Chris, but this one is very dependable.  You can always rely on him to be an asshole.  He got on his dinghy and came over to tell us to move the boat, it was too close to his.  It was three hundred feet away.  Do you think you own the whole bay, asshole?   After an unduly long time elapsed, accomplishing little, the mainstay of activity aboard Marita we headed back to the south anchorage, leaving nothing Wong and a very happy Clive.

Crazy Chris started calling, “Get the f***ing boat out of here.  I don’t want it so close to my boat…” He was screaming so loud that Marita Chris put down his phone and we all listened.”  Crazy Chris then started issuing threats.  He was advised in strong terms that he was screwing with the wrong people.

I gassed up and we snorkeled Hospital Point on the way home.  The water was far murkier than I had ever seen it.   While enjoying a late lunch on the deck the dogs took off down the stairs in a barking frenzy.  A bit later up walked Simon, my gardener.  He had just returned from six months of seminary training in David. This place is turning more Catholic than an Irish neighborhood in Boston.  Yup, I have work for you to do.  I pointed to a tree I needed felled.  Then I pointed to a spot of land which had been cleared.  “Tres muchachas, una hora.”  He laughed heartily.  It was a pathetic effort for three gringo lads with machetes.  Maybe half an hour for Simon by himself.  We fed him and gave him coffee.  He said he would be by at seven in the morning and paddled back home.

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Preparation

March 8, 2013 – 4:30 am
New moon high tide at 8:30.  Off with the three volunteers to Nuthing Wong.  Clive was aboard and had two Ngobe teenagers working with him.  We brought breakfast burritos.

Marlin a well respected local for many reasons, not the least is his knowledge of many things was the fourth to attempt the effort to get the boat off the sand bar. He had secured three anchor lines off the starboard bow and was winching on the lines in order to pull the bow in the direction of the nearest channel.  Forty tons of steel, with a six foot long steel keel and two steel skegs and six tons of lead were buried in the sand.  

The boys tried to pull on the lines.  I directed them to get them taught and to pull perpendicularly,  the leverage advantage is enormous.  Every time an inch or two was gained an Indian re-secured another line and the process continued, a couple inches at a time for about an hour.  We swung the bow about four feet.  A three ton winch was employed, but taking in the slack was painful.  Every time the limited travel of the load chain was reached a hundred feet of work chain had to be pulled backwards, a new knot tied in the anchor rope to hold the hook and the chain had to be worked out to the rope again.  All in all we swung the bow ten feet before the rapidly subsiding tides frustrated further efforts.

Marlin secured his massive cayuca, a dugout canoe thirty two feet long with four inch thick walls, with the stern but four feet from the bow and ran his reluctant forty stroke outboard at full throttle for hours, the prop wash blew away large quantities of sand, fortunately, away from the reef.  This had been attempted before but weather washed away away progress.  

The boys, Clive and I went to town. Clive had to provision and had no tender, the boys, well, something is always happening around me and they didn’t want to miss anything.   We took a taxi to Saigon, an isthmus that separates the peninsula that is Bocas Town from the bulk of the island and I led the way to Marlin’s house.   The five of us walked up to the boat house and two of the boys jumped up and monkeyed their way across a beam to reach another winch used for lifting the cayuca.  Marlin’s son Noah came out.  I’d never met him before.  “Hi, we are just getting one of these for your dad. Can you get us a plastic bag to put it in?” Nothing like carrying a large amount of rusty chain covered in used motor oil.

We returned to the boat, turned over the winch and decided to snorkel.  Sam saw a couple of nurse sharks. I was told they were always hanging out in the mangroves there.  Enough, to be continued tomorrow.  We headed home.   Leaving Marlin and his crew to continue blowing a channel. Tomorrow, my buddy Chris is bringing out his sixty foot trawler and we are going to try to pull this boat off of the sandbar.  If it doesn’t work this time, I guess we’ll have to wait for a full moon tide.

Hell, we blow off most of the day, why stop now? Sam and I went snorkeling.  I saw barracuda after barracuda.  Most likely it was the same one.  Curious creatures.   I dodged the giant moon jelly fish.   I avoided the box jellies, they sting.   I was swimming for exercise, not pausing to inspect.   I saw that barracuda again and then a big one.  A big pull in the crotch of my pants. WTF?  I spun around.  No blood.  No pain.  I spun around again.  Whew! It was my dog, a quarter mile from home who thought he’d join me on my swim.   I wasn’t quite done yet, but I returned home.

Shortly thereafter, Sam returned with a nice Spanish Mackeral.  He had been pursuing fish for an hour and was just standing to rest and this fish swam up to him, asking to die and Sam fulfilled his wish.

First coat on the floor of the  guest bedroom, the hall, the guest bathroom

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